During the last week of classes last semester, I began to have sharp pelvic pains. I ignored it for a few days until the aches began to interfere with my sleep.

After 15 minutes of Internet research one morning, I concluded I had a urinary tract infection.

“No biggie,” I thought.

Later during the day, I visited Health Services to get some care. After waiting an hour, a nurse finally pulled me into her office and asked me what was wrong.

The Famuan

Wesley Martin

“Well why don’t you just sit on the table and pull your pants down.”

While I unshackled myself and let it all hang out, the nurse put on gloves.

“Lay back,” she said so professionally.

She pressed and prodded all around my nether regions.

“Does it hurt when I do this?”

“No,” I said, avoiding eye contact.

“What about this?”

“No, the feeling is more internal.”

After a couple of minutes of this routine, she excused herself and told me she would be right back.

“Why didn’t she tell me to pull up my pants,” I thought. “She didn’t even tell me to sit up.”

When she entered the office, she had an instrument that resembled a narrower Q-tip.

“Okay Mr. Martin,” she said. “I’m going to swab you to see if you have any STD’s.”
I thought, “Is she going to stick that in my penis?”

Now, I have never in my life been tested for STD’s or AIDS.

According to the Centers for Disease Control, in 2007 48 percent of all chlamydia cases, 70 percent of all reported gonorrhea cases and 46 percent of syphilis cases were all amongst blacks.

But, I knew this.

It’s just that I’ve always had ambivalent feelings toward the whole situation. I’ve wanted to know my status, but I’ve always been too scared to go through with the whole ordeal.

Now it seemed as if I didn’t have a choice.

“Is it going to hurt?” I asked suspiciously.

“Yes.”

Before I could protest, she inserted the instrument.

I slightly blacked out. When I came to, the “F-word” was spewing out of my mouth like a scratched CD.

When it was done, I lay on the table, slightly traumatized by the experience.

To this day I’m not the same.

As I was shaking, the nurse informed me that I was to go into the restroom so I could give her a urine sample – which was no easy feat after what I had gone through — and after that, I was free to go.

“We’ll call you later in the week if anything is wrong.”

When I left, I decided that would be my last time getting tested.

But, I got a call.

“Can you come in as soon as possible,” said the receptionist.
I immediately started to pray.

“I’m gonna start doing right, Jesus,” I repeated sporadically until I visited health services the following morning.

After sweating like OJ in a room full of white women, I was informed that I was STD-free!

The nurse just wanted to make sure that I was aware that I have the sickle cell trait.

I thought about becoming abstinent, but I knew that was out of the question.

I’m just going to accept that it is my duty to regularly get tested and protect myself.

But it will be a cold day in Hades before I get swabbed again.

Wesley Martin writes for The Famuan, the Florida A&M University student newspaper, which originally published this article.

Articles in the Voices section represent the opinions of the individual writers and do not reflect the views of Black College Wire.